The Inbetween
by almatheshortstuff
Summary: When Steve is carved out of ice in 2011, he finds that he's not the only one out of place and out of time. An exchange of nightmares, secrets, and ghosts. Set between Captain America: First Avenger and the Avengers. A rewrite of Earth 616.67. (T for major language and minor violence.)
1. I This First Chapter Made Me Depressed

I This First Chapter Made Me Depressed, and I'm the Author

i just goes to show these characters have minds of their own

**New York City, 2011, Earth 616.7**

70 years.

Ice. Cold. Fear. A promise. Fear. Cold. Ice.

How much of the world's population was over 70?

In the millions.

94 years old.

That's how old he was now.

Steve wondered how many 94 year olds there were in the world. None of the people he ever knew, that was for sure.

Bucky barely made 25.

In the early mornings, whenever he couldn't sleep, Steve ran. He ran all over New York city. When he was sick and tired of running, he walked. None of his meandering did him any good, but if there was anything worse than constantly being on the move, it was staying still. The singularly most humiliating and demoralizing moment he'd faced recently was being alone in a house where everything else outsmarted him.

Peggy would never have let that conquer her.

He'd read everything he could get a hold of. He had gone to the Modern Marvels of Tomorrow, had been the subject of the most groundbreaking human experimentation, and that title still held 7 decades later. Hell, he wasn't even 30. Now the world was telling him to play catch up, that it had fulfilled the dream of the automated future, that it had gotten "better". It withheld all of its flaws from him, just out of grasp, but Steve knew better than to trust it.

His only liaison with the rest of the world was the agent Director Fury had assigned him – agent 21, Sakuya Inomata. She was a formidable woman, simultaneously professional and cordial, quick to both laughter and anger, and extremely perceptive. She often noticed Steve struggling with something before he did. Even so, something about her set Steve on edge, something so secretive and guarded that he didn't dare ask anything about her.

It was 5 in the morning.

The sun wouldn't be up for at least an hour. There weren't many people about, but they existed in the gray spaces between history. Steve was their captain, now. He enjoyed his anonymity. He resented his violent misplacement in time. Sometimes, –

The wind picked up ominously, and Steve's senses instantly sharpened. Cloud cover began to form and all of a sudden, it was hurricane weather, as trees and street lights shivered and collapsed. The air was thin and high, and a rush of adrenaline pumped into Steve's abdomen, pushing away all of his excess melancholy. A red spot appeared high above in the clouds and descended.

At about 30 yards above Steve, she appeared out of the clouds – a woman of white. Her clothing and nebulous hair were white, and her skin was blood-drained. She hovered like the angel of death, before plummeting so quickly she was yanked from his line of sight. She fell like a meteor, complete with her own crater. Several car alarms went off. Steve went to check on her, keeping low and wary. A human body falling at such speeds and from such heights – it couldn't be pretty, but it also couldn't really resemble a human body anymore.

But ho! there she lay, splayed out in a splatter of her own blood. Steve would have thought she was dead, except her eyes focused on Steve's face.

A man ran off screaming about 'lizard apocalypse' to Steve's right.

* * *

ii but then again, I sometimes write Steve thinking 'but ho!'

**3 minutes earlier; New York City, Earth 777.7**

"I don't want any trouble, especially not with our spectral overlords in IDEA," Alizeh Valenteri said slowly, easing toward Noah Cohen. He was some mix of Asgardian and New Jerseyan, and apparently the two didn't mix. He'd acquired some Asgardian dark magic and the Space stone, and had a master's in aeronautical engineering. Put all together, that meant he was three seconds from completing anything between an interdimensional navigation system and a transdimensional cataclysmic force that would unleash a domino effect on any and nearby parallel dimensions. He was a delicate soul, and had it trampled so many times that he now believed himself to be the only righteous man left in the universe. He fashioned himself to be something like the Noah of biblical times, riding on the floodwaters of chaos into a new dimension, a new age.

It only took the second telling for Ali to memorize his speech word for word, and she knew she would never be the same again. He was even wearing a shirt that read 'I come in peace', the smug little bastard.

The most important thing about Cohen was that he was one of Ali's casualties. He was a university student of her estranged staying-out-of-prison-by-the-skin-of-his-teeth father's.

Riley Ricci (52) had once been a "genius". He'd dabbled in a plethora of scientific subjects, before narrowing his focus onto biophysics and biochemistry, before becoming a surgeon; had undertaken several projects too ambitious and abstract that no one understood his objective three decades later; and slowly but surely genetically engineered his nine-year-old daughter's bones to turn into a light metal alloy similar to that of nth.

This gave Ali the power of flight, which complemented her power of aerokinetic manipulation and enhanced metabolic rate, but made damn sure he never got to see her face again. It wasn't that he hadn't gone to prison – he had. He had then died, but he left behind a little gift for humanity, his last imprint upon the earth. Another Riley Ricci – a clone. As if him experimenting on his own daughter didn't scream 'GOD COMPLEX!1!' enough. This version never knew he had once had a wife or daughter, and drank cheap negroni while yelling at university students about taking back the world. He had all the ambition of his original and was constantly denied all of the resources he needed to do any of his evil little projects.

Cohen was impressionable, and his flair of theatrics was specifically the Ricci brand.

Ali hated the Ricci brand of theatrics.

Peter was on the wall behind Cohen as Ali kept his attention focused on her, and was scoping out the machinery. Peter hadn't graduated from Empire State Uni in Biophysics for nothing. That meant he was a bona fide geek, whereas Ali's fourth grade baking powder volcano never went off. Whatever his qualifications (or lack thereof), Ali trusted him to get the device shut off and retrieve the Space stone while Ali ran decoy. Wanda and Vision were also somewhere in the building, making sure that it was only Peter, Ali, and Cohen in the final boss stage. He'd somehow hired Kree mercenaries and they packed a punch, even against the power android-witch couple.

As of right now, Ali's job was the easiest.

"How'd you even get the Space stone, anyway?" Ali asked, and Cohen was off again. She suppressed a sigh. Honestly, Cohen was crazy, but he was barely out of school – maybe three or four years older than her. If he had met a less embittered, loud-mouthed professor, he might have gotten somewhere. If he didn't have such a massive inferiority complex linked to his daddy issues, he might have gotten somewhere. As it was, she'd have to lock him up in max security. She might even have to hand him over to IDEA, as he was a potential transdimensional terrorist.

Peter had been less sympathetic to his plight.

"Dude, are you kidding?" he'd snorted as they suited up before the mission. "Aeronautical engineering? So cool! Gets all the girls. He could've been a rockstar."

"Uh-huh," Ali (a girl) had said skeptically as she slipped on her mask.

Cohen said something, and Ali snapped to.

"Take me with you?" she repeated incredulously.

"You're obviously a higher evolved life form – the flight, the air manipulation. I could use a general like you wherever my new dynasty is to unfurl," he said, seriously.

Ali could hear Peter's derisive laughter in her head. After the mission was finished, he wouldn't even be able to draw breath – slumped up against a wall while the strength left his knees. He had once laughed at her for 10 minutes straight. The particular incident that got his funny bone a-tickling was her going into the sewers to track down some Mole Man who was terrorizing the Queens sewer systems.

It had gone a little something like: "You," – snort – "fly" – wheeze – "and" – uncontrollable laughter, accompanied by the occasional spasm – "Mole Man!" – anguished sobbing.

Ali had left him choking on his own laughter and gone to take her third shower.

Presently, Peter gave her the ok sign from behind Cohen – he'd retrieved the stone and was now retreating back up the wall.

"Look, Noah, I'd love to come visit you down at the Raft, you know, under 24-hour surveillance solitary confinement, but the thing is," Ali half-shouted over his monologue, "I've got a boyfriend already, sorry."

"So be it," Cohen said coldly. "But don't blame me when the forces of this universe devour you and there is no escape. Did you really think that I'd just leave the Space stone in plain sight?"

"We're big dreamers," Peter quipped helpfully from up in the rafters, and there was a sprinkling of blue powder as he crushed the fake crystal in his fist. Ali swore under her breath and blasted air at Cohen. It caught him in the chest and sent him flying into the wall, while Ali flew over to the machine. She scanned the screen for anything to work with – it was all gibberish. Frustrated, she aimed at the big red light and let loose a blast of air. The machinery didn't budge, and she was pushed across the floor, but she kept on.

This was their Plan Z – Cohen had Ricci theatrics, and he really couldn't help himself when it came to big red lights, which meant that it was probably real important. Ali generally had good instincts, so she kept on. The glass cracked, and she gritted her teeth, pushing forward.

"No!" Cohen screamed from somewhere behind her. She could hear him struggling with Peter behind her. He must have gotten a shot of Kree war-juice as it sounded like he was putting up a decent fight. "I will be the pilgrim – the destroyer – the conqueror!"

Ali glanced over her shoulder to see Peter shoot a web at Cohen's mouth, shutting him up.

The light wavered, the glass shattered, and the room was suffocated in red. Ali felt herself suspended in the air by some unseen power, held against her will for the count of three seconds. She vibrated as if someone was shaking her very fast, very hard. Ali grit her teeth and screwed her eyes up - her brain was going to pop - Peter's eyes widened behind his mask.

Then she was flung out of her body.

* * *

Author's Notes: Well, it's my third rewrite, and I like it better than the other ones.

It starts out a bit slow, but I'll try to pick up the pace. Let me know if you liked it, hated it, didn't feel anything from it. Also, any and all joke ideas are readily welcome. Actually, all feedback (hopefully about the story) is welcome.


	2. II Would You Rather?

II Would You Rather Work in a Hospital or at a Graveyard?

**i Scene A: The Hospital**

Ali came to on her back, with the world rolling past her.

Standing opposite her were Nick Fury and Maria Hill.

"Yess," she slurred. "I made it to heaven, motherfuckers!"

A blurry man beside them cringed as if she had stepped on his shin.

Ali slipped back under.

Ali woke once more in a clean white room with a drip in her arm.

For heaven, the cots were awfully New York-ish; that is, lumpy and probably the final resting place for hundreds of old ladies. Goddamn it. This was hell, wasn't it?

A nurse came in to check on her, and only then did Ali notice the slight ringing of an alarm. Her left ear did not make sounds. Her body did not listen to simple commands like 'fart', 'sit up' or 'feel'. She couldn't feel. That wasn't good. That probably meant that her body was feeling too much pain to function properly and that she was drugged up good and proper.

"That's not good," the nurse muttered to herself as she checked Ali systematically. "You shouldn't be up yet."

"What?" Ali tried to say. She sounded like her abuelo's old lawn mower, the one that claimed two of Uncle Jorge's toes in '73. "When does the torture start?" She leaked blood from her mouth., which she only knew because of the red meandering its way to her eyes. The nurse wiped her up, but looked at her as if she were the lizard apocalypse. She moved out of Ali's sight, and next moment, Ali was going back under.

When she woke up the next time, Ali could feel again.

It sucked, so she went back under.

Eventually, she woke up again.

Fourth time did the charm, right?

Either that, or it was four balls, walk of shame, collect $200.

Ali could still feel all the pain, but it was bearable at this point. Her eyelids were caked. Her breath was foul. Her toes were so swollen she wondered if her feet still fit ten of them. Somehow, she pushed herself to her forearms. It felt like an hour before she made it to sitting. By then, all the alarms in the world seemed to be going off. Ali ignored them. When the devil came for her with his 70s lawn mower, she would be ready for him.

Nick Fury entered the room, followed closely by Maria Hill.

"You guys are the devil?" Ali blurted out. Nick and Maria exchanged looks.

"You entered the stratosphere at 6 miles an hour and left a small crater in Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard – and survived. If anything, I'd say that you're the devil. Explain. Who are you. How do you know us?" Nick demanded. Ali's brain seemed to be struggling with all of his words, for she took a while to think, before shooting off questions in turn.

"You don't recognize me? Stratosphere? Hell has a functioning atmosphere? Does that make me a racist? They have Martin Luther King Jr. in hell? Racial equality is a sin?" she blabbered, before Nick held up a hand for her to shut up. Ali's confusion was mirrored on his and Maria's faces, and the truth slowly dawned on her. "I made it to heaven?"

"You're still on earth, if that is even where you originate from," Nick snapped. "We don't recognize you because we don't _know_ you – in fact, whoever you are, you don't even show up on any of our databases."

Holy shit.

Noah Cohen.

Transdimensional travel.

Peter. Peter. Peter.

Ali's world closed in on itself, and her 9 year-old breathing anxieties flared back up. A siren seemed to go off just inside her left ear. She focused on breathing in and out, in and out. It took an hour for her to respond to any external stimuli. When she did, she began to spout incomprehensible word vomit.

Peter. Peter. Peter.

Someone drugged her.

Ali went reluctantly under, sobbing incomprehensible madness.

When she woke up again, she was prepared.

"Agent Inomata. Director Fury couldn't be here," Sakuya Inomata introduced herself as the ceiling came into focus. Ali's left ear was functional again. She sat up.

"Yeah," Ali said, and her voice was gravel. "I know."

"You're in SHIELD custody now, Miss… Ali. We hope to get your statement and some personal information. Director Fury has decided that you are not a threat, for now, so there is no need to worry," Inomata said, pulling out a tablet.

"What year is it?" Ali asked. Her voice was still dead. Inomata stared at her for a moment before responding.

"March, 2012," she said at last.

"Right. I'm Alizeh Valenteri; 25 years old; and I'm an enhanced from an alternate dimension," Ali said, still in that dead voice. When they were done, she managed a simulated smile. "How long have I been in this bed? I really want to get out already."

* * *

**ii Scene B: The Graveyard**

Demand for Steve went up exponentially after the incident of the 'Fallen Angel,' as it was later dubbed. SHIELD had swooped in before the media could, but the crater wasn't something so easily removed as an unconscious body. Even though his role in the recovery of the 'angel' was simply due to being in the right place at the right time, the agents of SHIELD still somehow attested it to being a courageous righteous patriotic man. It was exhausting, truth be told, especially when the rumors hit the streets and his anonymity all but evaporated.

Before, he had been treated as though he were actually a hundred-year-old man, and needed to be served on hand and foot. He'd refused all of SHIELD's 'help' except for the bare minimum, which was the safe house he was currently situated at and the occasional assistance of agent Inomata.

In his next meeting with her, he brought the matter up.

"I'd like somewhere to recuperate in peace, if that's not a problem."

Inomata seemed surprised, but took it in her stride.

"It's not. I recently heard that they're relocating the Fallen Angel herself. Perhaps it would be better to relocate you together," she replied. "In fact, I think the two of you could help each other, seeing as your situations are similar, to a certain degree."

"Did she come from space?" Steve asked, half sarcastically. Sarcasm. It suited Bucky more than him, but he refused to be apologetic about it.

"Even further – she comes from a different dimension, a different world that's almost the same as ours, but filled with different people and with different governments, culture, technology," Inomata explained gravely. Steve blinked twice, quickly. It sounded like one of the books he'd read long ago as a child. Into the looking glass, indeed.

"If she agrees, I think that would be fine," Steve said, building up his resolve. Inomata nodded slowly, looking to the ground. She brought her eyes back up slowly.

"I'll see to it that even if she doesn't, we'll get you somewhere you can rest and recover. I apologize if this is too late coming, but thank you for requesting the move. If there's anything else you require, don't hesitate to ask," Inomata said gravely.

She talked like a business letter, sometimes, whenever she was trying to distance herself.

Peggy did that, too, whenever she was irate.

Both Steve and Inomata left with heavy hearts, belied by smooth expressionless faces. Steve wondered what corpses Inomata had yet to bury in her heart.

* * *

Author's Notes: God, I hope Steve gets his chin back up soon, or I'm going to go mad. I promise next chapter he does some grave digging, and after that things start to look better for him.


	3. III Wear Yellow to Funerals

III Wear Yellow to Funerals

i Triskelion is Celtic, and means three legs. Exactly who had three legs among the Celts?

It was a beautiful day when Ali and Steve first met on the roof of the Triskelion.

Ali had recovered enough that everyday functions were possible for her, but she was still sensitive – both mentally and physically. Ever since she was experimented on by Riley Ricci (52, Ali's biological father, professional asshole), Ali's peace of mind had been a delicate disequilibrium. Peter had been one of the few people who could anchor her back to her everyday life, who helped her balance all of the thoughts in her mind and quiet the demons of her past. Now that she was stripped of him and the other few joys of her life, Ali was left with breathing exercises and Fruit by the Foots.

Her tongue was artificially colored at all times.

As soon as she had realized that there was no going back, Ali had studied up on the universe. The first thing she did was make sure that people here weren't actually reptilian, and the lizard apocalypse wasn't a thing in the dimension.

The next thing she did was see if there was an Alizeh Valenteri in this dimension. There wasn't.

There _was_ a Peter Parker. He was 12 years old, the age she and Peter had been when they'd first met. She searched him up. There was a picture of him with his Aunt May and his Uncle Ben, but it was a different Peter from the one she knew and loved. He would never grow up into the man who had been her closest companion and lover, which opened a mixed bag of emotions for Ali all over again. On the one hand, it was great because she was 13 years older than him and it would be torture for her watching him live his life without her. On the other, it meant she would never again see her best friend, in any shape or form.

She wished she at least had a picture.

After that, Ali just studied up on the universe at large and found that there were a lot of things this dimension lacked – space travel – the multiverse – aliens – time travel. There were several things Ali had never seen in her life, such as tamagotchis.

The greatest difference between Earth 777.7 and this dimension was that there was no league of superheroes who teamed up and fought international, interplanetary, intergalactic, interdimensional crime. Not even one who hunted down local shoplifters. There were no Avengers. Ali felt bare and powerless thinking of all the people she had left behind, people she knew and loved and who respected her decision to drink too much boba, but still made sure she didn't because of the one time she had to get her stomach pumped.

All of this was racing through her mind as Ali met Steve Rogers, the man out of time.

"Wow, it's really inappropriate how attracted I am to you right now," were her first words to him. She smiled broadly at him and thought to herself how proud Peter would have been of her. "I'm sorry, it's just that you're really a lot more gorgeous than the black-and-white pictures suggest, and my best friend's a real fan of yours, so y'know, I was just – is it possible for you to throw me off the building right about now?"

Steve chuckled, but he looked abashed. "It's alright. I used to get this a lot, and it's a lot better than what I'm getting these days. Steve Rogers, but you know that already."

They shook hands – he was a saint, shaking hands with a lunatic like her.

"Alizeh Valenteri, but please, call me Ali. Have you been receiving death threats? Spam mail? Chain texts? I'm sorry, am I making any sense right now?"

"I understood the first one. But no, I've just been receiving a lot of tenderhearted care, like I'll break apart soon," Steve explained, and his eyes were screwed up in the sun.

"You look mighty sturdy to me," Ali said, and then immediately hated herself. "Let's get in the jet, shall we?"

"Good – you're getting to know each other," Inomata said inside the jet. "We leave in 2 minutes."

Steve was one of the people who Ali could have a full conversation about absolutely nothing, mostly because he refused to divulge personal information like Rumpelstiltskin. Ali decided that Steve hadn't had even the amount of closure that she had come to (and she still woke up at night, unable to breathe), and needed time. Being unable to connect to someone gave Ali anxiety, so she ate a lot of Fruit by the Foot.

They ended up talking about technological advances and such.

"What's your favorite kitchen appliance?" Ali prompted.

"The microwave oven? That's really useful. I've been trying out a lot of food from different countries." Steve said readily.

"Lot more variety, these days, huh. Say, did you guys have sliced bread back in the day?"

Steve smiled ruefully. "They had sliced bread since I was around ten."

Ali shook her head in admiration. "Gosh, that's just – that's crazy."

"What about you? Anything different here in this dimension?" Steve asked.

"Well," she said, still smiling. "We had a lot more stuff going on for us – time travel, space travel, alien pirates. Still, there are more differences in government and crime-fighting. Used to be I had a whole 30 or 40 people with different powers and abilities that I could turn to. That's a lot of time and memories and love that I've lost."

Ali looked up, suddenly aware of the shit she'd been spouting. Steve had closed up again, like a clam.

"Did you try out the internet?" she asked gently, coaxing him out again.

* * *

ii When Visiting Log Cabins, Remember to Take an Axe and Deck Yourself Out In Denim and Flannel

"We'll be staying here a couple weeks, but take your time. It's better that you get acquainted to your situations at your own pace rather than force things along," Inomata told them in the Retreat. Ali checked the freezer for Ben & Jerry's and the pantry for Fruit by the Foot. Ali grinned to herself and resurfaced to listen to the rest of Inomata's drilling.

"Starting Wednesday, we will bring a SHIELD sanctioned psychiatrist to help ease the process along. He will be brought in unaware of the location and legally bound to confidentiality, so don't worry," she finished. "Any questions?"

"What day is today? And also, how do you all feel about paella?" Ali asked quickly, glancing up at Steve. "I thought, today being the first day and all, I could do some cooking. It helps with my, with my anxiety."

"Today is Monday," Inomata replied. "I love Spanish food."

Steve retreated to his room.

Inomata had told him that they'd recovered some of his belongings from several museums and from the craft he had crashed in, and he looked like he was going to go face Death herself.

Ali had no belongings, so she got right to the cooking.

* * *

iii and the Ghost Busters when Planning on Busting Them Ghosts

Steve left her and Inomata taking care of the ingredients, and closed his door with a click. His room was quaintly furnished, and had a lot of sunlight. None of it came into view however, save for two boxes placed by an armchair. He sank into it and reached into the box blindly. He pulled out several files – the thing he'd been dreading and looking forward to the most.

He started with Bucky.

That was safe, right? He'd been there the day Bucky had fallen. There would be no unexpected surprises. Still, it was a stab in the gut to see the letters outlined in red below Bucky's picture. Steve took his time reading through the file anyway, caressing the paper with dry fingers. His eyes, strangely, were also dry. Perhaps that would change when he saw the other files.

Next up was Dum Dum Dugan.

_Deceased_.

Jim Morita.

_Deceased_.

Montgomery Falsworth.

_Deceased_.

Gabriel Jones.

_Deceased_.

Jacques Dernier.

_Deceased_.

Each new file was a stab in the gut, but still Steve forced himself to read through each one.

When he reached Peggy, his eyes were still dry, but his hands were sweating up a storm. It was to be expected that all his companions had left (he could not think in terms of death), but they had not failed to make their mark, to make the world better for the war-ignorant people of 2012.

Steve had to tell himself not to get his hopes up, in the shortest words he knew how.

She's dead. She's dead. She's dead.

He wiped his hands on his pants and edited his mantra.

She's gone. She's gone. She's gone.

He opened the file.

Alive.

He closed the file, leaned back in his armchair, and closed his eyes.

His breaths were shaky, his eyes dry.

* * *

iv Dinner for Three is Just an Invitation for Loneliness

Dinner was a quiet affair.

Ali and Inomata talked in murmurs, while Steve picked at his food. He didn't feel like eating anything, but even worse was being stuck in his new room alone with his ghosts. Even though the food looked and smelled amazing, it tasted like dust in his mouth.

After dinner, he offered to do the dishes, and gave a halfhearted compliment to the chef. Ali joined him by the sink.

"I can dry the plates," she explained, and used a soft wind that seemed to come from her palm to do so.

"Where's agent Inomata?" Steve asked dully.

"Outside, by the lake, writing up a report. She took a carton of ice cream, but she didn't even take a spoon," Ali explained, with a soft laugh. "It's hard, isn't it?"

"It is," Steve agreed gravely. "But we've got to get over it and power through, haven't we?"

"Do we?" Ali asked. She looked up at Steve hesitantly before she continued. "I mean, for me, I had someone named Peter. He was the love of my life, my partner in crime, and my anchor. Not having him here is the hardest thing I've ever had to face, and I've been through some stuff. But at the same time, if I hadn't known him, I wouldn't be able to face being in a new world at all. Even when he's not here with me, he's my strength. I don't want to have to get over him or power through. I want to remember every last damn thing about him that I can."

Steve stopped washing the dishes, and let Ali's words flow gently over him. Slowly, softly, unbidden tears rose, and Steve felt them wet his cheeks. Ali took the plate he had in his hand, set it down, and floated slightly off the ground. Steve cried for a long while, and the whole time, Ali let him dry his tears on her shoulder.

* * *

Author's Notes: Bodies buried.

Now to get on with the story.


	4. IV Hakuna Matata

IV Hakuna Matata – what a _won_derful phrase!

i Night Terrors and Insomnia are Frenemies

Ali woke with a start. Her throat was raw. Standing over her was a looming creature, cloaked in dark, and she screamed again. She lashed out but did not land any decent hits. Steve turned on the lamp beside her bed and held her by the shoulders until she quieted, probably to keep her from hurting herself. She doubted she could dent him if she tried.

"Sorry – I'm sorry," she panted, leaning against the headboard and letting it cool her burning skin. "Was I screaming?"

"Just a little," Steve replied, and handed her a glass of water. Ali drank gratefully, and he took it away when she was done. Her hands were shaking, her breaths labored and erratic. "Hey," he said softly, sitting on the edge of her bed. His heavy brows were furrowed with concern. "There's a beautiful sunrise going on outside. Want to go see?"

Ali nodded wordlessly, and he led her out of bed and through the house. It was barely five o'clock, and the sky was painfully gray. There was nothing save the sound of birds here and there. Steve pulled at the back of his neck.

Despite herself, Ali laughed in short, breathless barks.

"Thanks anyway," she rasped. "The air feels nice."

They pulled up two patio chairs and Ali regained her breath. Steve watched silently as she went through all her breathing exercises, her eyes half closed and her face scrunched up in concentration. By the time she was breathing normally again, the sky was steadily lightening.

"What do you do when things get to be a bit too much?" Ali asked, and her voice sounded stronger and less gravelly than before.

"Something physical, usually, something that takes a lot of energy. You?" Steve remembered all of the days he'd run in New York before coming to the Retreat, the desperate sprinting, the disheartened plodding along. He licked his lips, which were drying out.

"Same. Usually either running or swimming. Both are things I'm not great at, so they're challenging," she replied, watching as the gray was drawn upward like sheer curtains. Light permeated the sky, and dashes of pink and orange were strewn about. "Empire State Uni had a good track. I'd run for a couple hours and go out for breakfast with Peter. You have anywhere like that?"

"Used to," Steve grunted as the world came alive with birdsong and light. "I wouldn't recognize it now, though."

"Bummer," Ali muttered sympathetically. "Do you, y'know," she said, suddenly bashful, "nightmare?"

Steve shook his head. "Not usually. I did a lot, though, um…" It was his turn to be hesitant. Ali looked to him expectantly. "Under the ice," he finished.

Ali's face fell.

"Under the ice? You mean for the past 70 years?" Ali's voice cracked twice, and her grey-green eyes were wide with disbelief. Steve shrugged vaguely.

"I don't anymore. The bed, though, it's a bit," he trailed off again, unsure of the wording.

"Uncomfortable?" Ali guessed.

"Soft." He smiled at Ali, who was surprised speechless. "Sleeping on the floor is good for your back, you know."

"I'll take your word for it," she snorted. The sun was really rising in earnest now, and the buzzing of insects accompanied the birdsong. "Thanks for bringing me out here. The sunrise really is beautiful. And thanks for sharing – I know it's difficult."

Steve nodded with a smile, and Ali pushed herself to her feet, looking purposeful. She gave Steve a mischievous grin that made the hairs rise on the back of his neck. (This was what Bucky felt whenever Steve threw himself headlong out of planes without parachutes, wasn't it?) Ali ran screaming into the lake. Inomata emerged from the cabin groggy and irritable, and shouted for her to shut up.

Ali screamed back, "HAKUNA MATATA, BITCHES!"

While Ali dragged Inomata into the lake, Steve returned to his room, where he faced his ghosts again with sweaty hands and a loud, clumsy heart. There was a phone number in Peggy's file, and an address.

He memorized them without meaning to.

* * *

ii Wednesdays, the Primordial Hump of Existence

Wednesday brought John Grahame, a middle-aged SHIELD psychiatrist who usually evaluated field agents, and specialized in trauma and PTSD. He was also a physician, and would be in charge of any and all aspects of their general health. He was British, extremely dapper, and had a way of making anyone feel included. Steve guessed that he was popular at parties.

He started with Ali.

Steve retreated outside and tried out some of the fishing equipment Inomata had provided him, but found that it left him with too much free time. Instead, he ran the length of the lake twice, and was about to run it again when Inomata emerged from the cabin and waved him over.

"You might want to go take a shower – they're wrapping up now," she said in a low voice. Dr. Grahame and Ali were in the living room, with Ali laying on the sofa. Her eyes were closed, and she was murmuring something quietly to the doctor, who was writing quickly into a notebook. Steve passed by, unnerved, and took his shower quickly.

Inomata was leading Ali to her room when he got out. She had a dreamy look on her face, and didn't seem capable of standing on her own. He caught Ali's wrist before he knew what he was doing.

"Are you okay?" he asked, worried.

"Fine fine, I'm just sleepy," Ali murmured, and Inomata gave him a look. Steve let go, and they walked past him. Steve went out to the living room, where Doctor Grahame was waiting for him.

"Captain – it's an honor," he said, and they shook hands.

"Will she be alright?" Steve asked, and the doctor smiled.

"It is an unusual procedure, isn't it, hypnosis? However, it was done in a controlled environment with Miss Valenteri's complete consent, under Agent Inomata's supervision. It is natural that you feel concern for Miss Valenteri – in fact, it means that you are adapting better than I imagined. If you are uncomfortable, we may use more traditional practices for you," he explained, and quickly jot something down in his notebook. "Now then, shall we get started?"

Steve emerged from his session with Doctor Grahame with a bottle of pills to help him sleep, a clear mind and a nagging suspicion in the back of his mind. He shook it away – the doctor had explained that it was because Ali was one of his first companions in an unstable world, and Steve was invested in her safety. Doctor Grahame was the professional, so it might do well to trust him.

If not...

Well, he'd see more of the Doctor on Friday, so he might take some time to make up his mind.

* * *

Ali woke from her nap feeling rested and fresh for the first time since she'd crossed over into this world. Her sleep had been without dreams, and she rose feeling hopeful for the first time in a long while.

On her bedstead was a bottle of pills.

* * *

Author's Notes: A slow chapter today.

I just finished writing the entire story. There's still a lot of editing to do, but I must say, I'm a bit bittersweet.

Hope you all stay along for the ride.

R&R – Reese's and Razzles.


	5. V For Vendetta

**Goldenfightergirl** – Lol. Bring all your conspiracy theories about Grahame. The only thing I'll admit to is that he prefers coffee over tea, which is why he lives in New York and not in London.

**xBBx** – Thanks for staying around! I'm internally panicking about not writing a coherent story, but I'm using a lot of exclamation marks to draw attention away from that! Let me know if you feel like I should just sit myself down and take things slow!

* * *

V For Vendetta

i I'm the Ghost in My Nightmares

"Another jackass put where he belongs, huh?" Peter muttered as he sank into their ratty couch. Ali collapsed into the armchair, groaning in agreement. One of her socks hung on her foot with alarming determination, while her suit stuck to all of the wrong places.

"It's digging into my butt," she whined, and Peter laughed.

"C'mere – I'll do your zipper for you," he said, and she got up reluctantly, but sat next to him as he helped her out of the suit. He even reached down and pulled off her annoying sock. She returned the favor, her fingers tender as she peeled the suit off a bloody bruise. Peter's breath escaped him in a hiss, and Ali pressed a kiss to his temple.

After a shower of agony and crazed sleep-deprived laughter, they pulled out a bottle of wine Peter had inadvertently stolen from JJ Jameson.

"I knew putting up with his megalomania would come in handy someday," Peter announced jovially as Ali got their only two unchipped coffee mugs.

"That thing is literally $50 a bottle at Walmart, the rich bastard!" she sang, throwing her hands up in triumph and nearly destroying the mugs.

When she turned around, Peter was holding her sock with a look as if it had done him great offense. The wine was nowhere in sight.

"Where's the wine?" Ali asked, confused. "Did you drink it on your own?" Her confusion was turning quickly to anger. "C'mon, Pete – don't joke with me. Put down the sock, it's filthy!"

Peter began to wail, and he sank again into the couch, clutching the sock. The mugs slipped from Ali's hands.

Ali woke with her heart beating out of her chest.

Fuzzy edges of a face torn in misery lingered for a moment, but was lost as Inomata called for her.

"Coming!" she yelled back as she blindly pulled on clothes, including a pair of mismatched socks.

* * *

ii I'm the Ghost of Battles Past, Haunting Your Ignorant Bliss

Bright lights surprised Steve.

Loud noises set him running.

Peggy danced before him, just out of reach.

When Inomata woke him for breakfast, Steve grit his teeth, ingrained Peggy's face deep into the back of his eyelids, and got up reluctantly.

* * *

iii Coffee is a Natural Diuretic so Keep Hydrated by Drinking Lots of Water

Ali was distracted at breakfast – she kept pouring cereal into her bowl when she needed milk, and vice versa.

"Hey hey – that's our last carton," Inomata snapped at last, and snatched the milk from her before she emptied it.

"Sorry – it's just, I think I dreamed something but I can't remember," Ali apologized, looking down at her milk-filled bowl. "I think it had something to do with my socks and wine. D'you think I dreamt of drinking wine from my sock?"

"Would it be the first time?" Inomata asked. Ali grinned at her milk. "Sleep well, Captain?" Inomata called as Steve arrived with puffy eyes. "Valenteri here drank all the milk."

"That's okay – I'll just have a cup of coffee," Steve muttered, and cleared his throat.

"Nightmare again?" Ali asked, concerned. "Are the pills not working for you?"

Steve didn't reply as he moved over to the coffee maker – the only kitchen appliance he could work with complete confidence.

"Are you taking the pills?" Inomata asked sharply, and Ali regretted saying anything.

"I'd rather not depend on medicine, if it's all the same," Steve replied pointedly. Ali busied herself pouring more cereal.

"I'd rather not be here babysitting you two till kingdom come, actually," Inomata snapped back.

"C'mon guys," Ali said, and her bowl overflowed. "Whoop – sorry. It's the morning, and everyone's irritated. Let's just maybe get some food in our stomachs before we bite each other's heads off. Let's – let's talk about something else."

Neither Steve nor Inomata replied.

* * *

iv Everybody Wants Kung Fu Fighti-ing!

Steve and Ali spent a lot of time studying at the Retreat.

They'd read any and all books they could get their hands on, and many movies were watched to help acclimate them to the culture and mindset of the human race. Steve depended on Ali to help him with the 21st century. Ali, in turn, depended on Inomata to set her straight whenever she got anything wrong about the dimension.

As soon as Ali was strong enough, she'd take the two flying as well. Because of her ability to control the wind, she could lift other people away from herself (no Peter Pan holding hands gig for her), and she made a point of dropping Steve and Inomata into the lake whenever it was hot out.

They also sparred. Steve was stiff and Ali tired easily. Even so, he was innovative and strong, while she was fluid and versatile in her attacks. Inomata was soon outmatched, and they sparred two to one whenever possible.

Inomata increasingly kept her distance from the two as the days passed by, until she took most of her meals separately. Eventually the only situation they'd see her for extended amounts of time were at sessions with Doctor Grahame, which she was obligated to supervise.

* * *

v 'Cause Girls Just Wanna Have Fun (and that requires Ben & Jerry's)

"Monsieurs Benjamin and Gerald, agent?" Ali asked one evening, peeking into Inomata's room. She hurriedly put aside some papers – reports probably – and nodded curtly.

"So, you've been very strange and distant lately," Ali said lightly as they ate the ice cream on Inomata's bed.

"This is me being intimately involved," Inomata retorted shortly. Ali ate with a teaspoon, while Inomata had a special rice paddle she kept in a silk baggie.

"I know it must suck having to babysit us when you have a life and missions of your own," Ali tried instead. "And I'm sorry if we're inconveniencing you. Work was super important to the Sakuya in my dimension, too."

"You knew the… me in your dimension?" Inomata asked, sounding alarmed. Ali caught the ice cream slipping off her rice paddle with the carton lid.

"Not as well as I wanted to, honestly speaking. But she was a good agent and she damn well saved my life on several occasions," Ali said, with a smile. "If it's alright with you, I'd maybe like to get to know you, too."

"Well, I'm Sakuya Inomata," Inomata replied lamely. Ali laughed.

"It's a start."

* * *

vi You're Upsetting the Pancakes

"Hey," Steve said at the table in the morning. Sakuya wasn't out yet.

"Hey," Ali greeted him, moving straight to the stove. "Nightmare again?" Steve didn't reply, but he was drinking coffee blacker than tar, which said volumes. She started a pancake batter for two. Steve never ate breakfasts on days he nightmared.

"What about you?" he asked, as she melted butter.

"Not since – not for a long time, now," Ali replied.

"Yeah? Why is that? The pills Doctor Grahame gave you?" Steve asked his coffee.

"You would do better to take them, too," Sakuya said, by means of greeting.

"Like I said, before – I'd rather not be reliant on drugs if possible," Steve replied bitingly.

"Your entire gig is thanks to a drug," Sakuya retorted, before Ali could interject.

"Please! Not in front of the pancakes," she pleaded. "Anyway, me and Sakuya are just worried about you, Steve." She gave Sakuya a look when she made to protest.

"I'm more worried for you," Steve replied, emptying his mug in the sink and washing it with precise movements. "You don't even know what the pills are, do you?"

"Doctor Grahame has helped dozens of SHIELD field agents – much more than-," Sakuya began.

"Much more than me?" Steve finished for her. "Tell me, agent, what is it that you think I did?"

"Stop, please!"

Ali was close to tears.

The pancakes were burning. Sakuya turned off the stove.

"You were a mascot, and you should have stayed under the ice," she said coldly. "You're no good to us here."

"Well, that's one thing we agree on, isn't it!" Steve shouted, laughing harshly. Tears fell fast and hard down Ali's cheeks. Steve glanced at her, and left the cabin, closing the door softly behind him.

"Hey, ignore him, let's get these pancakes going," Sakuya said gently. Ali put down her ladle with shaking fingers.

"You shouldn't have said that," she whispered. "You have no – no idea what Steve's going through."

"Don't I?" Sakuya snarled, then caught herself. "Look, forget it-."

"What do you mean?" Ali asked, and her voice was so harsh that Sakuya looked up sharply. "Tell me what you mean, or I swear to God-."

"Ali. Forget it."

Sakuya's face looked just as hurt as Ali felt when she left the kitchen.

* * *

Okay, in case y'all got confused: Sakuya and Inomata are the same person.

Sakuya is her first name, Inomata is her last.

Because Ali becomes friends with her, she thinks of her as Sakuya; however, Steve is still wary, and thinks of her as Inomata.

In Sakuya's POV (which is coming up), she'll be Sakuya.

Thanks for sticking with the story till here!


	6. VI Steve's Kitchen Appliances

VI Steve Doesn't Get Along with his Kitchen Appliances

i Tricycles have Three Wheels. Guess Who's Third Wheeling Here.

Waking because of an earthquake was a terrible reason, especially before coffee.

Sakuya awoke in her tiny bed, frustrated at the sound of pervasive birdsong that her corner of NYC had never entertained. It was a mission, sure, and she was being utterly unprofessional. However, she wasn't the only one – Steve was some shell-shocked conspiracy theorist hillbilly who refused modern medical treatment. Another quake shook her bed. Sakuya swore loudly, for the sake of it.

She joined Ali and Steve in front of the cabin – they had these little private pre-dawn get-togethers, which Sakuya didn't care for. Another thing she wouldn't miss when she returned back to civilization. She cocked the grenade launcher she usually kept under her pillow.

"What's up?" she asked urgently. "An earthquake?"

"No, actually. Looks like Steve's biggest fan," Ali replied mildly, and nodded up at something on the horizon. A 20-something-foot Captain America landed maybe a mile away, shaking the world. Sakuya fell on her ass, hard. Ali floated off the ground, and Steve was steady enough not to fall like an idiot.

"Hey ho," Sakuya snarled as she got up. She began to run.

"Hey ho!" Ali repeated, flying abreast with her.

"It's off to work we go," Steve agreed grimly.

Ali reached the Megalomerica first, and landed a wind-fueled uppercut, which set off a bell-like sound.

"It's an android!" she yelled. She flew this way and that, dodging enormous punches. She evaded all but the last one, which caught her in its windstream and sent her flying. Steve arrived at that moment. Using the nearby trees, he vaulted himself at the android's knees. The robot staggered at the force of the blow, but kicked at Steve, who was forced to flip flip away.

Sakuya arrived, too. While Steve was occupying himself, she shot a grenade at the android's neck. It caught the grenade, which left a sizable dent in its palm. In retaliation, it opened a cavity in its chest and shot out three homing missiles.

"Oh, joy," Sakuya muttered as she began to make a run for it.

Although Sakuya was too busy running for her life to see this, Ali did a couple of quick aerial maneuvers and made her missile go off at Ginormerica's shoulder. Steve darted between the android's legs and his missile took out Ameribot's left knee.

Only Sakuya was left. Since it was a homing missile, it would reach her at some point, and she couldn't keep running. She turned on her heels, bracing herself. As soon as it came for her, she'd dive out of the way. Three – two –.

Getting tackled by Steve was similar to being hit by a freight train. Ali forced a blast of air at the missile, so strong it exploded on contact. Sakuya groaned under Steve's enormous hulking body.

"God, I think you broke something," she wheezed.

"You're welcome, agent," he replied, helping her up.

Ali was standing a little ways off, staring up at the Steve-o-Matic with fury in her eyes. Her clothes were burned and falling off at the sleeves, and her forearms were red and blistered.

"Okay," she growled. "Now I'm pissed. You guys alright? Our residing agent, too?"

"Fine," Sakuya chimed impatiently. "What's the plan?"

"The ammunition chamber – you still have that grenade launcher?" Steve said quickly, as they ran back toward the android.

"Yeah, by its feet," Sakuya replied.

"Great – Ali and I will keep it occupied, you go get the launcher. When Inomata has it, Ali, you're going to have to get the chamber open. Inomata – aim straight for the TNT, and then run like hell."

Ali flew off and played hard to get with the android.

"Hey, Stove!" she called derisively, and barely missed getting impaled on a giant metal finger.

_Stove_. Sakuya grunted in admiration. Ali, you little genius.

Steve vaulted himself off of some nearby trees and struck Stove in the abdomen. It swiped at Steve, but he was too fast for it. Meanwhile, Sakuya slid to a stop, grabbing her grenade launcher. She took a moment making sure it was in working order before she waved to Ali.

Ali did a mid-air backflip, and ducked beneath Stove's arms to get to its chest. Steve picked up a fallen sapling and whacked Stove a couple times in the knees. Sakuya readied her grenade launcher.

Ali opened the ammunition chamber with a yell, and dented the door with one, two blasts of air. Stove felt at its chest, but Ali deflected its hands back while dodging them.

Sakuya made the shot.

Her euphoria at hitting the chamber lasted half a moment.

Apparently, Stove was packing a lot more fireworks than any of them had expected. Sakuya took Steve's advice, and ran like hell as bullets and explosives rained down on them from above. A moment later, Steve threw her over his shoulder. Sakuya was provided with front row seats to the most spectacular explosives she had ever been privy to see. She thought her eyeballs were burning off.

Just before the wall of fire could reach them, Ali picked them both up and threw them plunging into the lake.

Cold – acrid – fire blooming over the surface of the water – trees and debris fell through the water, and all Sakuya could do was swim.

* * *

ii Only YOU can prevent wildfires

Ali hated fire control. Being in a heavily wooded area, however, she couldn't in good conscience not round up the fire. Not to mention the forest was the Retreat's natural defenses and cover. She summoned winds to blow out fires – others, to round flames up. She grit her teeth. The skin on her arms was peeling, her back was boiling. She couldn't help it – she screamed, long and hard. Black flames ate at the edges of her vision, but she refused to rest.

Only when the fire was isolated around Stove did Ali allow herself to fall, straight into cool, dark waters. She sank like a stone. She took one long breath of air, and let the black close her eyes.

She woke in a makeshift tent, with many machines attached to her. She was on her stomach, and if she wasn't severely dehydrated, she might have drooled. Leaning over her was a blurry-faced black-haired woman, who seemed thrilled that she was alive. She mouthed words, but nothing Ali could make out. Sakuya?

Ali moaned. Her eyeballs felt burnt off and all she wanted was to ignore the feelings coming from below her neck. She couldn't hear her own moans.

The woman took her arm – Ali yelled – and struck her with a needle. Ali couldn't feel the needle itself, but she could feel the fire flowing through her veins. She screamed again, long and hard. She didn't hear a thing. Ali felt her skin reknitting itself – shedding burnt parts, forming new skin where needed. It was more agony than she cared to feel. She spasmed involuntarily – her limbs flailing – screaming incessantly.

When the fire had passed, Ali was on her back – her _back_ – and the pain had diffused into a dull ache. She was surrounded now – Sakuya, several other agents. Their murmurs made sounds, and sounds made words.

"Are you okay?"

A trill of cold made its way down Ali's spine.

Steve walked into her view.

The tent erupted in violent gales.

* * *

If you saw Earth 616.67, you saw the affectionate nickname(s) I have for Ameridroid. He's an actual villain in the Captain America comics. Thank God, or else I would have had to make up _all_ the characters except for Steve.


	7. VII Your World is a Lie

Update: This is the last chapter I'm posting for a couple days.

I'll take the time to edit the story and make it more coherent and, hopefully, gripping.

Thanks for reading!

Without further ado...

* * *

VII Perceptions are Malleable

i Your Mind is a Lie

Ali sat on her bed with an IV drip in her arm.

She was confined to her bed, but she wasn't complaining. She was a danger, a threat. Sakuya had contacted SHIELD before they'd fought Stove, and the Retreat's own security parameters would have caught it on their sensors, anyway. They were never alone going into the fight with Stove. By the time Sakuya and Steve had resurfaced from the lake, there were several jeeps and a quinjet full of agents. None of them could approach, help, or deter Ali while she put out the fires – apparently, the winds were too strong around her.

Ali had collapsed once she'd nearly taken out the fires. They fished her out of the lake and brought her back to the Retreat. They'd erected a temporary medical tent beside it and gave her burns rudimentary treatment. They had been bringing in more medical personnel when somebody – no one knew who – had stabbed her with some unknown mixture of steroids, which had accelerated her healing process. She'd screamed so loudly that she brought everyone – Sakuya, Steve, the agent in charge, Victoria Hand – running to her side.

And then she'd torn the world apart.

Ali closed her eyes.

Several agents – all of whom had come to help – had been hurt. Victoria Hand was among them, leaving Sakuya as the acting agent.

The medics linked Ali's reaction to the steroids, but no one could prove anything. They also couldn't prove how the steroids had caused her miraculous recovery. Ali felt guilty; she was enjoying the feeling of being whole and only slightly sore. She was not enjoying hurting agents and being terrified of Steve.

Of her mysterious drugger, all Ali could remember was a head of long black hair and a cat-like smile. She couldn't have gotten to Ali if she wasn't part of SHIELD, but there was no one of that description. Because of the damage her actions had caused, a notice had been put out for Ali's drugger.

Ali knew better than to blame the steroids or her drugger.

The moment she'd seen Steve, something in her brain had snapped. She became a cornered animal, and all she wanted was to escape. The rational part of her brain told her that Steve was a friend, someone who could be trusted. He brought her Fruit by the Foot in the middle of the night when she nightmared. He read like his life depended on it. He liked to draw, even though his fist was way too big to hold anything smaller than an axe. He was a good guy.

The animal part of her brain told her he was going to rip her limb from limb, and she would beg for death before it came.

For some reason, thinking about Steve didn't unhinge her, but something about his eyes…

Ali wept, silently.

She didn't deserve her tears.

* * *

ii Your Lifelines are Rotten Through

Steve sat in his room with his head in his hand.

A painful headache throbbed in his temple, threatening to obliterate the frail sense of peace he'd been working toward for the past three hours.

In the tent, Ali had looked well again, despite having been severely burned not two hours before. Her skin was pink and ginger, but it had been whole; her eyes bright and alert. He'd heard that she had fast healing. He hadn't heard that she'd attained immortality. Steve had been the one to swim to the bottom of the lake, to carry her out of the water like a broken goddess. She'd barely breathed, then.

Her health was a good thing. That wasn't what he was worried about. There were more pressing matters at hand - Steve's only friend, the only one who had any idea what he was going through, looking at him as if he were a monster.

The way Ali's eyes had widened, the tremors that had racked her body, the helpless horror etched in each line of her face.

Steve shook himself and forced himself to open his eyes. He flipped open his compass and stared longingly at the smiling face inside.

Oh, Peggy. What's going on?

Steve exited his room only when he heard furious whispering in the hallway.

Sakuya and Doctor Grahame were standing there, and both seemed surprised to see him.

"Is Ali alright?" he asked wearily.

"She's resting, as should you, Captain," Doctor Grahame replied in a soothing voice. "I'll get to you presently – look you over."

"Is she alright?" Steve repeated, and did not stand aside when the doctor reached for the doorknob.

"Please, Steve," Sakuya pleaded, and this, more than anything, alerted him that something strange was afoot.

"What's wrong?" he asked sharply, and Sakuya looked warily to the doctor.

"It's nothing – simply the matter of Miss Valenteri's relocation, for a more efficient recovery," Doctor Grahame said dismissively. "Really, Captain, perhaps you should leave this to us."

"Where will you take her?" Steve asked, stepping out of his doorway once and for all. The doctor could close the door all he wanted now.

"Well, to the capital, first, of course," the doctor said nervously, intimidated by Steve's stature. If only it were this easy to bully all the bad guys. "Then, there's a secure facility that's being constructed – Miss Valenteri will be safe there."

"You're going to imprison her?" Steve demanded, irate. "She's done nothing wrong! In fact, if it weren't for her, Inomata and I might be burnt to a crisp out there."

"Steve, she tore apart the medical tent, a jeep, and very damn near tore off the door, and the walls are inlaid with vibranium here – the same thing they made your shield from. The hinges – everything metal, basically, is vibranium," Sakuya said tiredly. "She's a threat – one we can't keep here or anywhere near civilization."

"You know that's not true," Steve whispered, too furious to speak louder. "She wouldn't hurt anyone unless it's to save innocent lives."

"Yes, well she very damn near killed a couple agents in the medical tent tonight," Grahame grunted. "With the – the instruments and glass flying about, I mean," he stammered when Steve glared at him.

"Anyway, I think it's best that we separate you two," Sakuya sighed wearily. "Maybe it's because you look like Stove, who burned her so badly, but she seems to be having bad reactions to you."

Stove looked like _Steve,_ not the other way around.

"You don't know her at all, do you?" he asked accusingly. "She's been through a lot worse than _Stove_. That alone wouldn't suddenly make her dysfunctional. What about all the hypnosis she's gone under? What if _he_ did something?"

"Hey, _back off_," Sakuya snarled, stepping in front of Grahame. "It's only you she's having a reaction to, remember? Maybe you should think to your own faults before you go blaming everyone else."

There was a slam from inside Ali's room. The three froze before they all tried to push through the hallway. Steve and Inomata got stuck, and glared at each other. Doctor Grahame tried to open the door, only to find it locked.

"Move," Steve and Sakuya said simultaneously.

Doctor Grahame moved, and Steve stepped forward, destroying the door in about two strikes. A chair was pushed up against the handle, but he made short work of that, too.

Ali had shattered the window (which was bulletproof and double paned) and had ripped the IV drip from her arm. There were tears in her eyes as she climbed out of the window.

"I'm sorry," she said shakily, looking at everyone but Steve. Even so, the wind picked up around them, and furniture and clothing began to swirl around their heads. Steve grabbed the chair before it flew off and took out someone's eye.

Ali launched herself out of the window, fell twice, but eventually rose into the air, taking her dust devils with her.

Steve was left staring at where she'd stood.

Ali had looked at him only through her tears.

* * *

I watched Spider Man: Far From Home today?

Who's your favorite Spider Man?

I have a feeling the majority will be Tom Holland's version.

My favorite has to be Tobey Maguire's Spider-Man 3. Bite me.


	8. VIII Components of an Adventure

So, I lied.

I said I'd only take a couple days off, but then writer's block ambushed and massacred all my remaining brain cells.

I'm sorry.

Please still enjoy this humble offering, an amalgamation of stupid.

* * *

VIII Adventures are 95% Sweaty Confusion and 5% People with Nasty Grudges

i Log cabins are raccoon havens and mosquito queendoms

"We need to get the two of you somewhere safe," Inomata barked to Steve and Doctor Grahame the moment Ali left.

"I'm going after her," Steve retorted stubbornly. He located Ali's backpack (which they packed full of Fruit by the Foot for post-nightmare pre-dawn conspiracy meetings), marched into the kitchen, and fetched two serrated knives.

"You are doing no such thing," Inomata yelled after him, even as Steve packed the bag. He ignored her and headed toward the door, when he heard her cocking her gun. There were more agents outside. He wished he had his shield.

"Don't move, or I'll shoot," she growled. "Just try me."

Steve glanced toward the front door, which was swinging precariously on its hinges. Ali had almost ripped it clean off, and it would come off with just a bit more encouragement. Steve ducked immediately behind a couch, heard two shots, and tore the door off its hinges. He threw it at Inomata, effectively blocking her exit route, and sprinted out.

The other agents were already on the chase after Ali. Steve borrowed the first car he found unattended.

And then what?

Where would he go?

Where would Ali have gone?

* * *

ii Another lie: Andrew Garfield's Amazing Spider-Man is my actual favorite (the second movie was real bad, tho)

"I've reported them," Dr. Grahame announced behind Sakuya as she checked her body to find that everything was bruised. If she ever met Steve Rogers again, she would kill him, slowly, with a doorknob.

"Thank you, doctor. I should get you to safety now – the quinjet is in the woods. We should take the back exit – we're obviously not getting through here," she said quickly, professionally. If looks could kill, Sakuya would be a mass murderer.

"They're both such forces of nature," the Doctor said in awe. Sakuya didn't reply as she led him away.

* * *

iii I wonder how many bugs Ali picks up on her face while she flies

Ali didn't know what was wrong with her (Peter had once made a very comprehensive list for her perusal), but it sucked. One of the things that really burned her nugget was that she had shattered a window that opened wide enough for her to shimmy out. Talk about embarrassing.

Ali flew for a long time, straight through the night.

The injection, whatever it was, had certainly done a thorough job. She felt a strength in her bones that she hadn't in a long while. If she survived all this and wasn't put in some max security facility, she'd really like the formula.

When Ali touched down, she found herself on the track of Empire State University. A public place. She should have gone into hiding – instead, she had flown straight into SHIELD turf like a moth drawn to a bonfire.

Panic bloomed in Ali's chest, and dust sprang up around her as a breeze disturbed the track. It took a moment for her to get things under control. She tried to think of the one face that had always, without fail, managed to calm her down (unless he was the one who had upset her in the first place): Peter Parker. She summoned him to the back of her eyelids.

Peter did not come.

The wind picked up around Ali, and a tornado climbed toward the sky.

Dammit. The last thing she needed was a beacon. Ali needed to get out of th-

"Alizeh Valenteri," a woman's voice said. She was strangely calm, for being right next to a tornado. She was black-haired, dressed in black from head to toe, and had on a SHIELD STRIKE vest.

"You," Ali said, an inkling of recognition dawning in her mind. The agent had a very catlike smile. "Did you… you gave me the shot?"

"I saved your life, if you feel like thanking me. Can you control that?" the woman asked. She was beautiful in a strong, self-assured manner, as well as strangely familiar. She had a lilt to her movements, and the curve of her neck was poetic. Beautiful people were always terribly intimidating.

"I – I can try."

Ali shut her eyes and summoned Peter to the forefront of her mind. This time, he came. The winds died down.

"That's great, just great," the agent said. "Do you mind coming with me? You're not safe here."

"Who… who are you?" Ali asked hesitantly, keeping her distance. The agent held her hand out and gestured urgently.

"Scynthia Shmidt, SHIELD," she said impatiently.

"What did you give me?" she asked, steeling herself.

"It was an amplifier serum – it jumpstarts your hyper healing and augments it so that you're almost good as new," agent Shmidt explained. "It was originally developed for Captain Rogers. It's not safe to use in large doses, but I thought a big girl like you could handle herself."

"Yeah? And were you the one that fed me…" Ali stopped.

Fed her what? Lies? Waking nightmares? Fear of blue eyes?

"It's an amplifier serum – it amplifies your physical and mental health. If it had any effect on your emotions, it was simply amplifying whatever was there," Shmidt said, and laughed. Her laughter was very unpleasant. It didn't sound as if she did it often. She was getting less and less beautiful by the moment.

Ali brought her emotions under control. Maybe she could blast this faker off the face of the earth if she was stable.

"Now, come, agent. We can discuss all this later. It's taken me a very long time to reach you… very long… and I want you to help me leave a surprise for ah, a mutual friend," Shmidt said, still in that cruel voice.

"I just came for a run," Ali replied darkly. "And my mother taught me about stranger danger."

"Very well," Shmidt agreed, and pulled out her gun. Ali put her palm up to summon winds so powerful it would flip Shmidt's face upside down – the power built up in her arms – it was coming aaany second now – Shmidt shot her straight disinterestedly in the knee, and Ali crumpled like a house of cards.

"That does the opposite of the serum, just so you know," Shmidt crooned. "It'll strip your powers and higher functions one by one, if you don't bleed out first."

Ali's thoughts unified for the first time since she'd been exiled from her own dimension. There was a certain clarity in unadulterated rage. She blasted Shmidt in the chest and sent her flying.

"Oh, fuck you."


	9. IX Great Puns Inside

IX I had a really great title planned and then I woke up

i My naps are the reason I have a bad memory

Shmidt really didn't lie about her shit. Ali was pretty sure once the bullet paralyzed her completely, she was going to shit herself. She hadn't done so since kindergarten, and took great pride in her control over her bowel functions.

Also, she didn't take kindly to being shot twice.

Ali had deflected the second bullet with the last of her wind powers, but it had grazed her right shoulder, which pulsed angrily. Her right leg had already given up on her, and her arm would soon follow.

"That one might have ended your suffering for good," Shmidt laughed delightedly, coming up to Ali and forcing her gun barrel into her wounded shoulder before it numbed completely. Ali yelled, a garbled sound.

"You don't work for Nick, do you?" she panted, willing any of her limbs to move. She glared up at Shmidt's nostrils, hoping it would be her hamartia. Even her nostrils were perfectly symmetrical. Ali focused all of her will. With luck, she would get laser beams to shoot out from a magical third eye. With her luck, she had a quiet secret little fart.

"Took you long enough. Who did you think sent the Ameridroid to go scout out your powers?"

"…Stove?"

"You named him Stove?" Shmidt snapped incredulously.

"Yeah, and I like it better than _Ameridroid,_" Ali snorted. She then spasmed and fell flat on her face. Shmidt chuckled.

"These are Sleeper bullets – soon you'll just be a mind stuck in a shell of a body," she announced, before sticking something into Ali. She spasmed again, but found feeling creeping back into her limbs. She screamed despite herself – the feeling brought back pain, and set her veins on fire.

"Half the antidote," Shmidt declared. "Just enough to keep you from going under too soon."

Ali lay panting on the ground, unable to move and unable to stop the pain. Thankfully, she was lying on her wounds, which meant the pressure might get them to stop bleeding.

"What the fuck do you want with me?" she mumbled.

"Oh, you're just a byproduct, really. The real hero is still on his way." Shmidt squatted to eye level. "But that doesn't mean we can't have a bit of fun, hmm?"

Elena Valenteri had taught her daughter extensively on stranger danger. Thus, she was absolved of blame when it came to about 30% of her daughter's idiocy.

The next time someone approached her, Ali was going to scream and fly away like a madman.

* * *

ii Maybe I should stop taking so many naps

When Steve saw a black-haired woman standing over a bloody Ali with a gun, the only thing he could do was hit her with his borrowed vehicle. The woman went flying, and Steve reached over and pulled the passenger side door open. The moment Ali saw his face, instead of a panic attack, all of nothing happened.

"Steve?" she called hesitantly. "What the fuck are you wearing?"

"Get in! They called it a beanie!" Steve said through his pink beanie, which had holes cut out for his eyes and mouth. If they got out of this, she was going to glue on sprinkles. He didn't know this specifically, but he could see a manic gleam in her eyes. "Who is that?"

"Special agent Sarah Sally Shmidt," Ali gasped as Steve pulled her into the car. Was that her name? The poison was probably working its voodoo magic on her. She thought hard as Steve locked the doors. "Scynthia. I think it was Scynthia."

Scynthia lay limply several feet away, and groaned.

"Shmidt? Like Johann Shmidt, Red Skull Shmidt?" Steve asked frantically.

"…Or Smith, I don't really remember," Ali mumbled.

Agent Shmidt or Smith stabbed herself in the arm with a syringe, and howled.

"Let's not wait to find out," he said. "You're injured - again. We need to get you medical treatment," Steve replied, reversing the car. Shmidt got up and pulled out a strange scroll and a gigantic brush. Apparently, she was very artistic and Steve had just crushed her creative spirit with his SUV.

"No – she poisoned me. She has the only antidote," Ali grunted, leaning limply against her seat. She was perspiring heavily, and her breath came in short gasps. "Besides." She was smiling now. "Scynthia's got a crush on you."

A cold finger ran down Steve's spine.

Just as well, since a horde of what seemed like inorganic bats made of ink flew at their car, screeching and covering them in darkness. They crashed into all of the windows in suicidal droves, blackening the windows with ink. The glass began to crack under the strain.

"This is the weirdest shit I have seen all week, I swear," Ali groaned. "And I've come across a transdimensional wormhole."

"We need a plan," Steve panted, as he drove through the inkstorm.

"You won't like mine."

Scynthia landed on the car roof. Ali screamed, and then laughed like a lunatic. Her face was flushed with embarrassment.

"I like hers less," Steve reminded her.

"Alright, suit yourself," Ali replied, with a shrug.

She tore off his beanie and looked straight at him.

All of the car windows exploded.

Scynthia howled as she was torn off the car and vaulted into the air. Ali and Steve shared a grin. Of course, then the car began to rise unsteadily, lurching forward, then backward. Still, Ali would not take her eyes off Steve. Ink bats were whipped around them, painting the air black.

"Ride or die, baby, ride or die," Ali gasped as tears streamed down her face.

Bucky's face flashed in Steve's mind.

To the end of the line, indeed.

"Bucky. You would have liked him," he yelled over the roar of the wind. He didn't know if Ali could hear him – she was crying too hard.

"I don't want to hurt you!" she screamed back, and her hands were shaking madly.

"You won't," Steve shouted. He reached his hand into his pocket. Ali screamed again. He pulled out his compass and flipped it open. He kept the picture pinned down with his thumb so it didn't fly away. Ali seemed to calm down when she saw Peggy. "And neither will I."

The winds died down, and the car began to drop.

"I'm – I'm not scared of you anymore?" Ali sobbed.

"That's the spirit," Steve muttered. He undid both their seatbelts, hugged Ali around the middle, and leapt out of the windshield. They landed on the dusty track and rolled a couple times, but Steve's timing, as always, was impeccable. The car exploded behind them.

Scynthia Shmidt or Smith was lying face down several yards from them, unmoving. The ground was stained with ink, but somehow, Ali had kept Steve and herself clean.

"Think she's still breathing?" Steve asked as he and Ali watched Shmidt's battered body.

"Do you have a stick?" she whispered back, terrified that Shmidt would hear them talking. They eventually made their way over to check the woman's vital signs, with Ali taking bigger steps in order to fake confidence. Steve pushed Shmidt/Smith to her back, and Ali gasped. Her face was – Ali told him later – glitching. It looked as if her face couldn't decide who to be, and was trying to be everyone. Ali tore the skin off her face.

* * *

I had two really good titles planned out.

I took two naps.


	10. X is for X-Men

X is for X-Men

i We're off to see the wizard, the wonderful Wizard of Oz!

Sakuya woke up and wished that she hadn't.

Her entire body hurt, but the pain was deadened by medication. She felt woozy and sick, and it felt like several hours before she could open her eyes.

Someone was shouting angrily – a woman's voice, high and loud, powerful and carrying.

"He's a hypnotist – a megalomaniacal shrink, one that's SHIELD sanctioned, by the way, just like the bastard SHIELD had in containment half a century ago!" That was Ali. She should have done theater.

"That's neither here nor there, miss-," a man shouted back angrily. The voices got closer.

"It is, because Inomata's innocent!" Steve declared.

Okay. _That_ was new. What had she done? Drunk driving? That would explain the blank in her memories.

"You just gonna lie around there?" a voice asked, and Sakuya jumped as high as she could while being strapped down.

"Agent Hill," she panted, as a familiar face came into view. Agent Hill hurriedly released her, and Sakuya sat up too quickly for her brain to follow.

"We don't have a lot of time – Ali and Steve explained what happened, so naturally Director Fury wants you to live," agent Hill said as Sakuya recalibrated. "Go to this address." A scrap of paper was forced into Sakuya's view for a moment, then rough hands forced her to her feet.

"Affirmative," Sakuya said, as she shouldered the backpack handed to her. She opened her scroll and checked that her paintbrush was still alright. Hill forced on a pair of sunglasses and a hat on her, and Sakuya fought to keep upright.

"Well?" Hill said, when Sakuya lingered in front of the window.

"Why are they arguing about my innocence?" she asked, but Hill shook her head.

"There's no time," she hissed, and Sakuya whipped up a painting of an albatross, which came to life in the air before her. It carried her gently out the window, and a burst of air pushed her further away from the hospital. Sakuya was certain that Ali, somehow, was helping her. An inkling of a memory flashed in her mind - a colony of bats numerous enough to block out the sun. The image was gone as Sakuya traveled toward the address at first speed, and the rush of adrenaline in her veins fought off the pain. A trill of excitement stirred in the base of her stomach, a feeling she hadn't had in many years but seemed to be feeling ever since Steve and Ali entered her life. Sakuya leaned into the wind, and the albatross carried her on ever faster.

As she traveled, Sakuya tried to think of where she had been since she dropped Dr. Grahame off at a safe house with another agent, an agent Rumlowe of the STRIKE team. They were also working on the location of one Lyle Dekker, who was revealed as the manufacturer of the giant android that had attacked them, which Ali had aptly dubbed 'Stove.'

After delivering the doctor, had Sakuya decided to stay the night? She seemed to remember a lot of dust, and a lurid pink mask, and screaming, but Sakuya was known to have strange dreams. Perhaps her shift from spending her days behind a desk to active field duty to accommodate the sudden appearance of two enhanced individuals had spiked an increase in anxiety and was giving her weird dreams.

Maybe when Steve threw a door at her, it had hit her head without her knowledge and she was facing the consequences. Well then, why were Ali and Steve fighting to prove her innocence? Was this all a dream, too?

Sakuya pinched herself, and found herself hurtling through thin air, headed straight toward the hard ground.

* * *

ii The urge to stab people is very real

Sakuya groaned her way back into consciousness.

Her brain seemed to be throbbing out of her forehead, and everything was painful. Her face had blown up to twice its size, and her eyes were slits. As if she didn't get teased enough that her eyes were small. She was in a dark room of concrete and machinery, like a mechanic shop or a warehouse. Her backpack, full of weapons and her enchanted scroll, ink, and paintbrush was nowhere in sight.

What had happened?

Sakuya tried to remember, but thinking hurt – breathing hurt – existing hurt. Someone had hit her very hard in the back of her head – that much she remembered. She was tied down, again – this time to a chair.

She moaned.

"You must forgive me for the discomfort – even in situations such as this, your training as a special agent would inconvenience me greatly, you see," a smooth voice said from somewhere outside her periphery. She knew that voice… whose was it?

"This way," the voice continued, and a brown haired man stepped into her view. His face was hidden from her. "I could hypnotize you with little to no resistance. You were an open book, so to speak. Now." He pulled up a chair. John Grahame. So obvious – she should have guessed. "Shall we?"

"You," Sakuya said weakly.

"Will never get away with this?" Grahame suggested, laughing.

"I'm going to kill you," she snarled.

Grahame laughed harder. It echoed on the bare walls and returned to Sakuya with some force. Her brain throbbed.

"You always say that," he said, and it was with some admiration.

"Always?" Sakuya echoed.

"Yes, you see, we've had these conversations with some regularity. You never remember them, and with good reason. I'm very good at what I do. I'm much better than my dedushka, at any rate," Grahame laughed. "You gave him quite the hard time, didn't you? But then again, perhaps it's thanks to him continuously handling you that made you so _easy_ for me." He trailed off, musing thoughtfully.

"I knew your grandfather?" Sakuya's brain really hurt now.

"Very well – he hypnotized you on almost a weekly basis after SHIELD reinstated him and Doctor Zola," Grahame explained. "But you met him before that, haven't you, when you moved him and Arnim Zola to another detention center in '56, hmm, soldier?"

Sakuya's mind cleared, and her blood ran cold. Grahame glanced at her, and laughed again, cruelly. She grit her teeth and wished his laughter didn't jar her brain.

"You're quite the enigma, aren't you, Agent Inomata? It took me quite a long while finding you… yes, tracking you down…" Grahame's voice turned thoughtful. "The agents at SHIELD spoke of a specter, a ghost, but every organization has its ghost stories. I was the only one who believed the stories – a woman who was the spearhead against the Japanese in the second war, called the Blue Crane, who singlehandedly won back the Pacific with powers that not even her comrades understood... I, of course, thought they were speaking of Margaret Carter. Who would have thought you yourself would be Japanese?"

"You are insane." It was Sakuya's turn to laugh now. She didn't even regret it when waves of pain racked her body. Adrenaline coursed through her – for a short time, she wouldn't feel much pain at all.

"Yes, many thought so… But the thing is, my dedushka worked here before me, though SHIELD does not know of our relation. He spoke of a soldier who had survived a fatal experiment in Japan's Unit 731, who could make inorganic creations come to life simply by drawing them in ink."

"You're insane," Sakuya said pointedly.

"He had a photo."

Sakuya squinted at the photo Grahame held in front of her – a black and white picture of a young Asian woman in Iwo Jima, just days before the bombing of Hiroshima. She had been so full of life, then. Sakuya had forgotten the photo.

"She looks Manchurian to me," she snarled stubbornly. "The Koreans and Chinese were furious at Japanese Imperial rule – still are, actually."

Grahame shook his head.

"There's no use denying it, agent. Or I should say, soldier."

"Who _are_ you?" Sakuya asked. Rather than fear at being found out, weariness of letting a secret die crept into her voice. If anything, she sounded resigned and steely, which was better than sounding shrill and terrified. "If I'm going to die here, you might as well tell me why."

"Oh no," Grahame said, with feeling. Sakuya would have applauded his dramatic vocalization if she wasn't tied to a chair. He pulled out a syringe that filled her head to toe with fear. It must have registered on her face, because Grahame was amused. "I really should change the method I administer the formula, since there seem to be trace memories surrounding the syringes, which might later trigger a memory, but there's just so much satisfaction in stabbing you with it," he said, with grim satisfaction.

When Sakuya got out of her bonds, she was going to kick him in the throat or the crotch – either one would make him shut up, hopefully.

"Yeah, well," a voice said from behind Grahame. They both looked up. "I wouldn't mind stabbing you, either."

* * *

Edit: I have no idea if anyone understands this, but I understand it.

R&R would help!


	11. XI Should You Trust First Impressions?

XI Should You Trust First Impressions?

i apparently your brain is wired for millions of tiny little cues that make up the first impression, which is why if someone triggers your fight or flight instincts, maybe you should run

Grahame was hit in the chest with a solid block of air and collapsed like a load of wet mud. He collided into Sakuya, and the two collapsed on the floor. Sakuya hit her head hard, so hard that she didn't notice Grahame stabbing her in the thigh with the syringe. Steve hurried over and seized Grahame, forcing him into magnetic handcuffs that pinned him to the ground.

"Where did you guys come from?" Sakuya groaned as Ali got her out of the chair.

"We've been here the whole time. Sorry about that," Steve replied, keeping an eye on Grahame. "Here – put these in," he said hurriedly, handing Sakuya some noise-cancelling earbuds.

Grahame cleared his throat irritably. There was a nasty welt coming up on his receding hairline, and a nastier look on his face. He began to shout strange words – they sounded Russian – and a shiver made its way down the back of Sakuya's head to her spine. She had only one of the earbuds in.

Ali blasted Grahame again and knocked him out cold, but it was too late.

"Well," Scynthia said, pulling out her earbud, and smiling with Sakuya's face. "I didn't think I would get to see you again."

"A split personality induced by chemical injection and hypnotic indoctrination," Ali mused mildly. "Fascinating." She then raised her palms and blasted air at Scynthia. She dodged out of the way, rolling whenever she needed to, and put her hand to her hip holster to find herself weaponless.

"Grahame, that idiot," Scynthia hissed under her breath as she found temporary security behind a metal platform. She took stock of her bearings – they were in the shop of Lyle Dekker, who'd made the Ameridroid prototype to draw Steve Rogers out of the Retreat, where he was too heavily protected. The annoying aerokinetic girl had been good bait, but she also somehow controlled the air. It was only a relief she didn't seem to be able to asphyxiate anyone, or cause large scale weather changes.

Now, all Scynthia needed was something to draw with.

"You must be curious as to who I am, no?" she called over the counter as she rummaged through cabinets to find a weapon or something to replace ink with.

"Scynthia Shmidt – someone German. Someone with a grudge, I'd guess," Steve Rogers suggested, and she dodged behind another counter. He was getting too close. She discovered a gun in one of the cabinets, thanks be to America, home of the irresponsibly armed. She checked to see if it was loaded. Perfect. That would at least buy her some time. She peeked over the counter and shot at every lock of blond hair she could see. Both Rogers and Valenteri dodged away.

"Then again, you're taking a ride on a Japanese body," Valenteri piped up irritably. "And you're a projection of Grahame's imagination!"

Scynthia laughed. Maybe it would infuriate them enough to back off while she searched for something.

"I was here long before Inomata."

A tub of paint caught her eye. Fantastic. She grabbed it, wrenched off the lid – it was orange – and began to draw on the floor before her.

"I wouldn't." Rogers loomed over Scynthia, who smiled, putting her palms up. Behind her, a massive tiger as big as the room growled threateningly. They were too late.

"Too late," Scynthia pointed out, sing song, and dived out of the way as the tiger pounced. As proficient as he was in hand to hand combat, Captain America was no match against an eight-foot tiger. He barely kept upright as he quickly lost ground against the big cat. Valenteri blasted air at the tiger, but it was inorganic and felt no pain. All she got were paint splashes in random places of the room. Come Monday, the employees were going to find that the mechanic shop had been remodeled with a lot of orange paint splashes. With an annoyed swat of its gigantic paw, it boxed Valenteri straight out of the air. She hit the wall, headfirst, and crumpled bonelessly.

The tiger turned its attention to Rogers, and he steadily lost room to maneuver. He seized a metal plate and used it as a makeshift shield to deflect the tiger's attacks, but it too would not last. Too soon, the tiger tore Rogers' shield out of his hands and brought a clawed paw down heavily on him. He fell on his back and struggled with the paw, but the claws dug into the ground around him, caging him in.

Scynthia leaned against the paw crushing Rogers, and put her foot on his neck.

"I've waited a long time for this, Rogers," she hissed delightedly. "You've made my name and legacy dirt – so bad that I couldn't even survive without a disguise. A permanent disguise. If Zola and Fennhoff hadn't had the good sense to reprogram me into Inomata's mind, I would have perished long ago."

"So you're a parasite," Steve spat, and she applied more pressure to his neck. It felt good, stepping on her father's enemy as if he were a bug. What Johann Shmidt, the Red Skull had failed at, his lowly _daughter,_ the child of a _washer woman_, had succeeded. She'd brought Steve Rogers down. He would never again cause her any more pain.

"I never thought they'd bring you back to life, but it's a good thing I stuck around, hmm?" Scynthia crowed. "I should have brought a homecoming gift. But then again, you'll be dead in a moment, so you'll have no use for anything."

Scynthia brought her boot up, to stomp on Steve's neck again. Before she could bring it back down, a hand seized her by the front of her shirt and lifted her five feet into the air. Steel grey eyes peered wide and furious into her own, and teeth were bared viciously at her.

"If you weren't in Sakuya's body, I'd tear you apart," Ali growled pleasantly, and the warehouse erupted around them. A torrent of air seized the metal roof and made scrap metal of it – chunks of cement and plaster were whipped around them – the paint tiger was torn into splashes of paint. If Ali didn't have Scynthia in the eye of the tornado – for that was what it was – she too would have been shredded like fettuccine. Scynthia didn't bother struggling against Ali's grip, and instead found the gun from earlier in her back pocket. She shot at Ali, who yelled and dropped Scynthia like a dead weight. She brought the gun back up as she fell – Captain America would be just below her – he was waiting for her, with a steel pipe in his hands.

"Batter up," he muttered grimly.

Ali blasted the gun from Scynthia's hand, and she was sent tumbling head first toward the ground and her archenemy.

For the second time that day, Inomata's head was hit with something hard.

Scynthia Shmidt, taking up residence in Sakuya Inomata's body, crumpled like an empty beer can at a frat party.

* * *

ii don't put too much trust in your first impressions though – some people just seem shifty when they're nervous

"I think you killed her," Ali said mildly, checking Sakuya's – Scynthia's – whoever's pulse. "Nope, somehow, you fell just short of it."

"I held back for Scynthia's sake," Steve joked, as he moved Sakuya to the quinjet.

"Haha," Ali fake-laughed. She summoned a soft wind to blow an unconscious Grahame into the jet's holding cell. She didn't bother moving any debris out of his way, and his head bumped a couple times on cement blocks.

* * *

Is it too much? Too confusing?

Let me know, so that hopefully I can fix any problems!

Plot-wise, we're in the endgame now.

Thanks for sticking around thus far! Sorry if it's super confusing.


	12. XII End of the Fruit by the Foot

XII End of the Fruit by the Foot

i My parting words to the congregation: spread love and peace

Sakuya woke, sitting, in the quinjet. Her hands, for the third time that day, were tied down.

"So, apparently two weeks with you in a secluded log cabin was _not_ enough time to get to know you very well," Ali said in a gravelly voice. Sakuya blinked until her face came into view. Steve and Ali were sitting opposite her, and the latter was chewing her finger with her right leg in a makeshift cast. "Steve made it for me – apparently, fighting in World War Two gave him a lot of nifty boy scout skills. But that's beside the point."

"We can come back later if you want us to," Steve added, giving Ali a slight nudge with his elbow. They were both covered in orange splashes.

It took Sakuya three tries before she could make human sounds.

"What happened?" Sakuya groaned. Ali and Steve took turns filling her in. Ali mostly blabbered, while Steve chipped in and corrected her at crucial moments, and helped her focus whenever she digressed too hard and long, thanks to trivial details such as when her blood sugar dipped dangerously due to a deficit in Fruit by the Foot consumption.

"You're joking," Sakuya moaned loudly. "So I've been haunted? I'm Japanese, and even I don't take haunting seriously."

Ali and Steve exchanged a painful look – they had no idea what to say.

"How'd you… I don't know, get her out?" Sakuya asked eventually.

"Cranial recalibration," Ali chirped immediately.

"Wha-at?"

"We exorcised you by hitting you really hard in the head," Steve explained bluntly.

"That explains the headache – all the headaches, really," Sakuya said, and cringed.

"We…" Ali trailed off. "We heard some weird things in there, like something about the Pacific War, the Blue Crane, things like that. If… it's not too much of a bother, d'you think you could explain?"

"Well, you've already got me pinned down," Sakuya moaned. Ali and Steve exchanged looks again, and Steve undid her cuffs. "No, I at least owe you an explanation… and an apology. I'll start," Sakuya groaned as she pushed herself onto her forearms, then onto her butt. "With the apology. Guys, I'm sorry for everything."

Steve nodded graciously, while Ali smiled gently.

"I'm sorry, too, if that helps," Steve offered.

"It doesn't," Sakuya said shortly. "This whole debacle is on me – I should have guessed that Grahame wasn't all he seemed to be."

"We all got out alive," Ali declared. "It's no one's fault except that psychopathic son of asses!"

Sakuya grinned. Too soon, the grin slipped off her face. "As for that explanation…" She sighed.

"You don't have to," Steve said, with some force.

Sakuya smiled.

"I know. I want to. For the past half century, I have been roughly 30 years old." The look on Steve's face was priceless, but Sakuya was too busy staring at her hands to see. "One of my ancestors drew, well, a cute little scroll-full of animals, called the Choju-jinbutsu-giga, and apparently all the nearby woodland animals came out and blessed him, or some shit like that. Since then, members of my family can make ink paintings that come to life and protect the family. That includes me. When WWII started, my parents spoke out against Japan's imperialism, against the occupation of different countries and the war propaganda. The imperialists didn't like that, and decided to make a lesson out of me. They experimented on me – horrible biological experiments. First they started with bacteria, viruses, foreign chemicals. Then they brought in something… something unnatural."

She fell silent now. She sat remembering the emaciated, drawn faces of her fellow prisoners, their shaved heads. Their bruised bodies. Their crushed souls. The laughter that they hid, because being in a high stress environment still permitted them have beautiful emotions like happiness and joy amidst their frequent terror. She remembered how none of them made it out, except for her. She continued talking.

"I escaped to the US, volunteered for the war efforts against Japan, and though it took a long time, earned the trust of the army. After the war, I joined the SSR, then SHIELD, and worked alongside Peggy Carter. I figured out that I wasn't aging in the mid-50s, about the time I moved Johann Fennhoff and Arnim Zola to a different penitentiary. Peggy put Fennhoff in prison, and hell if I was going to be the one to let him out. Unfortunately, it was there that Fennhoff and Zola must have realized that something the Japanese did to me _worked_. I was immortal – or, at least, aging so slowly that it appeared so. That's all I know. Anything Fennhoff or Grahame did to me thereafter is out of my knowledge."

Sakuya looked 30. How much of her memories were hers? She felt more than a mere hundred years old.

Ali and Steve exchanged looks, again.

"Well, we are the weirdest fucking group of people I have ever met," Ali laughed, delightedly, and slapped Sakuya's shoulder. She hissed and garbled a long line of expletives, while Ali apologized profusely.

"Anyway," Sakuya grit out once the pain had subsided into a dull throbbing, "I've never told anyone any of this since 1966, so I suggest you keep it to yourself. I plan on outliving both of you, and I don't want every Jack, John, and Mary on my trail."

The three stared at each other for a long, silent while.

Ali started cracking up, and Steve and Sakuya stared at her as if she'd grown a third eye.

"I'm gonna get some more Fruit by the Foot," Ali declared, and got up. "It's only an addictio-!"

Steve and Sakuya looked to where Ali stood.

She was gone.

* * *

ii I mean it, go get a nice hobby and don't go around hurting people

Grahame was put into maximum security, with a muzzle like Hannibal the Cannibal. Fury had gotten it vintage, since he and his grandfather shared a similar bone structure. The presence of Scynthia Shmidt remained a mystery until they discovered Grahame and his grandfather, Fennhoff's notes, and Sakuya agreed to hypnotism. It didn't take as well as they wanted, but Hill found that she had a good knack at summoning Shmidt. It remained unclear as to whether she was another personality that Fennhoff's hypnotism and therapy had created within Sakuya's subconscious, or if they had somehow transferred a different entity into her body. Perhaps she was haunted, perhaps she was just crazy. It was revealed that the reason Fennhoff and Zola were brought out of captivity was because they helped SHIELD take down a real-life Scynthia Shmidt, who was the alleged daughter of the Red Skull. No one knew the truth, and no one would any time soon.

Sakuya didn't care.

At the first opportunity, she left for Europe to monitor neo-Nazis and radical nationalists, but not before sharing a heartfelt farewell with Steve. He had returned to Washington DC and was now training in several different martial arts and parkour. (Sakuya had to warn Fury that he might leave SHIELD to become the buffest cat burglar this side of the Atlantic, and had been promptly dismissed.)

It had been three weeks since Ali disappeared. Steve missed her terribly. Though she didn't admit it, Sakuya did, too.

"I'll see you round, Rogers," she said, punching him in the shoulder. "Keep your chin up."

"I got you this," Steve replied, and handed Sakuya an Irish catholic rosary. "In case your ghosts come back."

Sakuya laughed.

"I made you this – now don't open it, or you'll waste it. If you need help, it'll come find me. It's an eagle – a bald one. I mean that literally: I drew him bald. I thought Ali would find it amusing, if she ever comes back."

"Thanks," Steve said, with a chuckle. "You know, I went to art school."

"You're joking," Sakuya said. "You can barely hold a fork – your hands are too big."

"Yeah well, I'm pretty decent with a brush, too. We should go paint some tourists or something later, if you ever come back to town," Steve offered, almost shyly.

"I'd like that. Till then, _ciao!_"


	13. XIII For the Unlucky Ones

XIII Thirteen is a Lucky Number for the Unlucky People

i This time it's the express train, baby

The Inter-Dimensional Law Enforcement Administration (IDEA)

Having been blasted out of her body and into a different dimension before, Ali knew what was happening before it quite happened. The journey was swift and painless this time, and when she reformed, she was in a white building filled with sunlight and leafy green plants. Birds sang somewhere. She was also dressed in white, as opposed to the grime-colored, blood-splattered outfit she had on before she was beamed up. Her wounds and injuries had healed, too, and she felt no pain.

She was dead, wasn't she.

Or was this a summoning? Was there a Wicca witch somewhere waiting to imprison her and force her to make sustainable wind energy for the rest of her life? Was she like a genie or something? Would she turn blue? Would her feet morph into a wisp of smoke? Would this happen immediately or gradually?

"Don't worry," an old man said from her left. He was standing in an arch doorway, and smiling benignly at her. He was very brown, very wrinkled, and very cute. Had he been standing there the whole time?

"Follow me."

Ali followed. Down wide hallways, up staircases (that didn't have rails), through vegetated rooms and courtyards, all of them some degree of white. Finally they arrived at a room full of books – rich books with velvet and satin bookbindings, or those that looked like granite, some short, some tall, some thick, some thin. The old man pulled out a thick book with white satin covers inlaid with gold, and took a seat at his enormous desk. Ali sat opposite him.

"Do you know who I am?" the old man asked. He was even more wrinkled up close, and even cuter. There were wisps of white hair on his head that seemed to move with a breeze that wasn't blowing.

"You're me," Ali said, brows furrowed.

"Yes," the old man said with a smile, "and no. I am you and all of the other Alizeh's of the different dimensions – all 150 million something somethings of them. I am your representative at IDEA, the Interdimensional Law Enforcement Administration."

"Peanut butter jelly shit," Ali swore. "There aren't an infinite number of universes?"

"Oh, there are," Alizeh agreed, still smiling benignly. "In fact, you – just you, your body, your soul – is an infinite universe of universes. But we'd better get onto the matter at hand – we're wasting time.

"Ali, you were illegally deported from Earth 777.77 on May 3, 2052, at approximately 22:40. We've looked into the matter, and have decided that you are innocent in the matter. The perpetrator was apprehended, and has been brought into IDEA custody, where he will be taken care of."

"Does that warrant incineration?" Ali asked nervously.

"It does not concern us now," Alizeh said firmly. "Our matter at hand is _you_." He continued briskly. "You landed on Earth 616.67 on November 15, 2012, at 5:23, where I see you have already resumed your crime fighting, albeit, completely by accident. Now, you must make a choice. Since your deportation was completely involuntary and because you yourself have a stellar reputation amongst the Alizeh's, it is my pleasure to inform you that you may return to Earth 777.77 promptly, if you so wish."

Ali's heart stopped.

The first and second times she spoke, it caught in her throat and she choked.

"A catch! Is there a catch?" she gasped on the third try.

"Unfortunately, there is. Relative to Earth 616.67's time, that of Earth 777.77 has moved on at approximately 1,210 times faster. You have been at Earth 616.67 for 22 days, so roughly 3 weeks. During that duration, Earth 777.77 has traveled… 69 times around the nearest solar body. If you return, it would be on July 6, 3021."

Ali choked on her words again.

"69 years. What about-?"

"Peter?" Alizeh searched through the book. "Peter Benjamin Parker dies at the age of 75, August 29, 3002. In fact, all of your companions would have died save for Mary Jane Watson, who would be 84."

Ali groaned and buried her head in her hands.

"That wouldn't be returning to my dimension at all – that would be returning to a hell where they know my name," she moaned into her palms.

Steve. Steve didn't even get a choice.

"I'm sorry," old Alizeh said, and reached across the desk. He took one of her hands in his gnarled brown ones, and they were warm and comforting. "This shouldn't have happened to you, and I'm sorry IDEA can't compensate more for your losses. However, we too are forbidden from tampering with the natural laws, and these are the only two choices I can offer you." His dark eyes flickered uncertainly, and then his face shifted.

A little boy sat across from herself.

"I know that you love Peter – I love him, too. And yours is such a good one. He mourned you for a damn long time. In fact, he never got over you. He loved you till the day he died, and then he dreamed of an afterlife with you. But while you were gone, he took down the Green Goblin, the Sinister Six, Kraven – so many others. He lived the best he could even when the going got rough. What are you going to do, now that you can't be with him?"

"I-," Ali said, numbly.

"You'll sulk?" Ali now faced an 80-year-old version of herself. She had greying hair and enough wrinkles to adorn an elephant, but her grey eyes were steely. Apparently, she would age well. "You'll sit on your couch – you don't even have a couch, by the way – and you'll think of all the could-haves and should-haves and what-ifs? Either world would be lucky to have you. On Earth 777.77, Peter left behind protégés and students, those willing to take up the mantle after him. On Earth 616.67, you could make Steve's and Sakuya's lives a lot happier, a lot easier. And what about you?"

Ali faced herself, 25, female. American, of Spanish, Persian, and Italian descent.

"What will you do for yourself? What makes you an Alizeh Valenteri, no matter where you go? What makes you, you?"

Ali opened her mouth again.

"I know, I know – it's a lot of goddamn questions," Alizeh said impatiently, turning back into the old man and waving his hand. "And you don't need to know all the answers all at once. But let me tell you this, I, you, we love Peter Parker, yes. But not as much as we fucking love ourself, and we're not going to let you waste your time in these halls. Pick a world, and then stick to it."

"Al_right!_ Goddamn, you talk a lot!" Ali burst out, slamming her hands on the desk. Alizeh smiled admiringly at her. She glared back. "But I want a picture of Peter Parker and a phone call – I mean it, and I'm not choosing until you give me what I want – screw time-space continuum!"

Alizeh began to laugh – really laugh, rolling peals from his belly, with his hands on his small round stomach. He stopped quickly – again, they were wasting time, and quickly led her to the next room, holding her hand.

"About 90% of the Ali's who have been in your position have said that, so we have a phone next door," he explained, and gestured inside. It was dark, and the only light was a streetlamp outside a telephone booth. It had stood in front of her and Peter's apartment. There was even the little gum wad cobble patch on the pavement. Ali felt her throat close up. "It's just before you are deported – we can't mess with time afterward," he said, and stepped back. That made no sense, but Ali didn't care as she stepped into the telephone booth and dialed Peter's number.

"Hello?" Peter said.

"Peter," Ali breathed, and began to cry.

"Who is this?" he asked. "Ali? But… you're in the shower."

"Yeah, but I'm also on IDEA."

"IDEA? Like Interdimensional overlords, IDEA?"

"Look, Peter, record this. I don't have a lot of time, and I want you to remember the sound of my voice for eternity and beyond." Ali smoothed back her hair with a hand. "I'm going to leave you soon. It'll be abrupt, and it's not what I want, but it'll happen. I can't stop it, you can't stop it. I just want you to know that I will always love you, and whoever you're screwing, what I want is for you to be happy. You deserve it, you smug idiot."

Her throat constricted. She fought it back open.

"I'm not joking. I don't care what you do to get it. Fight evil, love someone, take photos and open a nude art gallery. Open a nude art gallery with photos of someone evil that you love. Take care of yourself. Cereal does not have all the essential amino proteins. Eat people food. I love you."

"I love you, too," Peter said in a low, serious voice. "It's Cohen, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Ali breathed, painfully. "Is that tonight?"

Peter swore under his breath.

"She wants a garlic meatball sub, and a long kiss from her boyfriend. Maybe not in that order," Ali said, and they both laughed. Peter's voice was watery. Ali cried freely.

"I love you," Peter said again, and this time his voice was stronger.

"I've gotta go," Ali replied. Alizeh was pointing at his wrist. (He didn't even wear a watch, the fucker.) "I love you, Peter. Always."

They hung up.

* * *

ii pertaining to the circle of life

Steve was running. It was before dawn and the sky was just lightening.

Sakuya had left for Europe three days ago.

When the wind picked up and the weather soured, he felt a trill of anticipation. The clouds were the same as the day Ali had first arrived in his life. He was certain - she was back.

This time Ali floated gently down her own whirlwind. Before she even hit the ground, she was running toward him. She threw her arms around his neck, crying. He hugged her back, shushing her gently. They stood like that until the sun rose.

There was a new photo in her back pocket – one of her and a handsome young man. They were smiling. Peter had a black eye and a goofy smile. Ali was kissing his cheek.

* * *

A/N:

This is basically what I've been driving at for the last 12 chapters.

Next chapter will be a teeny lil epilogue.

I'm still concerned that no one other than myself understood the past couple chapters, so if you have any two cents you'd like to contribute, please review or pm me :)

Thanks for hanging 'round till now, guys.


	14. XIV Epilogue

XIV Epilogue: Three breathing holes to a person, no more and no less

Peter had gone out while Ali was showering. When he came back, he was strange, giddy and clumsy. His palms were sweating up a storm, something that hadn't happened since he went on a job interview with Oscorp. He brought back garlic meatball subs.

"Did you spy on me in the shower again?" Ali teased as she dried her hair.

"Oh, always," Peter said seriously. Ali threw a couch cushion at him, and he returned it to the couch with a flick of his wrist.

They had dinner holding hands, which made maneuvering the sandwiches difficult.

"You're sweating all over me," she complained, but then saw Peter's face. "Are you sick?"

She reached over and smoothed Peter's ever-messy hair back off his forehead. He caught her hand and kissed it, before taking her sub from her and setting it down. Moments later, he was sitting in her lap, and they were kissing. He tasted like tomato sauce and garlic. Usually they tried not to breathe too hard after eating garlic (they'd had a lot of fights over Peter burping directly in her face, and lately he was trying to stay on her good side). Tonight, Peter was helplessly insistent, and Ali was good at breathing with her mouth.

Eventually, they switched places so that she was sitting on his lap.

* * *

And thus, we come full circle.

Thanks for sticking by to read this fic, guys. I really appreciate it. I hope you had at least a fraction of the fun I had writing it.

I'm still interested in anything you have to say about the fic, or about the characters, so review review review!

Till later, then.

Ciao.


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